Chapter Text
The briny smell of the docks hung in the air, infiltrating Jason’s helmet as he crouched behind a pile of crates near a shipping container, watching the warehouse in front of him.
And the pair of men standing in front of the doors, keeping guard. They were well-armed too—both visibly carried machine guns and whatever other weapons were hidden on their persons—as they eyed the docks warily, keeping an eye out both for the weapons supply and for any Bats who might raid the warehouse, not even engaging in conversation to pass the time while waiting.
Vastly different from the guards Jason saw last night, who held their guns loosely and chatted away the hours of their shift. That, along with the other guards he’d seen patrolling the perimeter and standing guard at the entrance at the back, told Jason two things—that there had to be a significant amount of weapons being delivered tonight to warrant this much security and seriousness from the guards.
And that it might mean the supplier would be making the drop-off tonight instead of it being anonymous.
Jason eyed the horizon, dark water blending with the darker sky. So far, there had been no sign of a ship that would deliver the weapons, but from what he’d overheard from loose-lipped guards and potential arms dealers that had visited this warehouse for the past two weeks, then it would arrive at the darkest point of the night without any fanfare or noise, deliver it’s cargo, then disappear into the night just as silently as it arrived.
Jason would be impressed at the amount of discreetness, if what those weapons could do to the Alley and its people didn’t fill him with unease, at the possibility of it turning into a gang war.
And that was something Jason would not let happen.
But as he looked at the warehouse, Jason couldn’t help the bite of frustration. He’d been casing it out for the past two weeks, eavesdropping on information and checking out the security and guard rotations, the entrances and weak points, and—to his annoyance—it was a well-guarded warehouse with little weak points. More reason that the supply of weapons was something serious, but it also meant that he’d need to take care in getting inside without spooking the arms dealers and the supplier and causing them to disappear, taking the weapons with them—or turning into a fight.
Jason eyed the shipping container above him, then the distance between it and the warehouse. He’d noticed there was a skylight on one of his prior stake-outs when he risked standing on top of the shipping container. If he could time it right…
“Well, this is way more boring than I thought it would be.”
Jason whirled around, gun already pulled out and aimed, before he recognised who had suddenly appeared beside him.
“Jesus, kid. Give a warning next time, I almost shot you,” Jason reprimanded as he lowered the gun, something almost like the Pit that had been tight and churning in his chest easing in the presence of Poltergeist.
The vigilante in question rolled her eyes. “I did. I thought me saying this whole stake out thing is boring as hell was warning enough. But I guess next time I’ll shout for every goon in vicinity to hear and wear a bell for good measure so that you don’t shoot my brains out.”
Despite himself, Jason smiled—that biting sarcasm reminded him of Steph, Harper and Tim, and of himself—as he holstered the gun and instead asked, “When did you get here anyway? And how did you get here?”
Poltergeist shrugged. “I was in the neighbourhood and heard something was gonna happen here tonight. Thought it might be related to what happened a couple weeks ago.”
Behind the helmet, Jason arched a skeptical brow. He didn’t buy that for a second—it was too coincidental—but Poltergeist was already barreling on.
“So, what exactly is going on here? Are we just waiting for those weapons to be dropped off?” Poltergeist questioned, twirling her nail-bat.
“More or less,” Jason affirmed as he checked the guards again. Same men, same position. Same level of silence. “I’m also betting that the supplier will also be here.”
Above her mask, Poltergeist frowned. “The same supplier the arms dealer had no idea who their identity was since the weapons were delivered anonymously?”
“Exactly,” Jason confirmed. “It’s the same reason you’re here, right, kid?”
The vigilante was quiet, telling Jason he had gotten it right, before she murmured, “It’s a shot in the dark they’d be here, but a shot in the dark is better than nothing.”
Jason nodded in agreement. As he looked at her, Jason remembered that when they last saw each other, she’d been hurt—most likely shot. He frowned as he asked, “Does it still hurt?”
Poltergeist tilted her head, and Jason elaborated, “Your injury. I know it’s been two weeks, but I know those types of injuries hurt like a bitch.”
“Oh. No, it doesn’t anymore. I mean, occasionally, it does, but not as much as it did before when I first got shot,” Poltergeist answered with a shrug. “What about you? You got injured too.”
“I’m fine—it was just a graze. It healed over quickly,” Jason answered. But that was a deflection if he heard one, and it had both suspicion and concern flare in him as he said, “Poltergeist, if you’re still injured—“
“I’m fine, Hood. I heal fast, too,” Poltergeist cut in, eyes hardening to ice. For a split second, pinpricks of green flashed in her eyes before they disappeared, so quickly that Jason would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at the kid, or hadn’t learned to recognise when his own eyes flashed green.
But Jason understood the message—one that he knew very well from personal experience.
So he listened and dropped it, feeling more than seeing the relief from Poltergeist that he hadn’t pushed it.
Instead, she eyed the warehouse as she asked, “I suppose we aren’t just going to get information behind these crates all night, right?”
“I was thinking of a way in when you showed up, kid,” Jason responded, eyeing the warehouse’s roof again. “There are guards at both front and back entrances, and more patrolling the perimeter. All armed to the teeth and ready to shoot anything that moves.”
“So no way in there,” Poltergeist surmised.
Jason nodded, once again looking at the roof. “The roof is the only part unguarded. It’s our way in. We just have to get onto it undetected.”
Poltergeist looked at the roof, then at the ship container, then at the roof again, something crossing over her face before she asked, “Are you sure there are no guards on the roof?”
“I’m certain there’s no one watching the roof,” Jason responded. A sardonic smile spread on his face under the helmet. “You think they’d learn by now to watch the roof.”
The other vigilante didn’t respond, fiddling with the buckle on the left strap of her jacket, before she said quietly, “I… might have a plan to get us up there.”
Jason glanced over at her, noting the look on her face as she glanced between him and the guards, still fiddling with the buckle, a slight nervousness edging her expression. Whatever plan she was cooking up, it sounded like a risky one.
Good thing Jason was always up for a risky plan.
“Whatever it is, I’m all ears, kid,” he said, voice reassuring. “So let’s give it a shot.”
Poltergeist blinked in surprise, then lowered her voice and murmured, “On my signal, get to the roof. I’ll cause a distraction to draw the guards away and meet you up there. You get us into the warehouse through the skylight, and then we just wait and watch the drop happen, and get more information in the process.”
Jason considered it. It was a decent plan, and a distraction would ensure that the guards wouldn’t notice him as he snuck onto the roof. The part where Poltergeist caused the distraction concerned him, since it left opportunities that she could get caught and limited options for him to make sure she wasn’t without revealing himself as well, but right now, they didn’t have many other options.
So Poltergeist’s plan it was, and trust that she could give the guards the slip.
“Okay. Let’s go with your plan,” Jason decided, and felt more than saw the other vigilante perk up. “But be careful. If you’re caught, I won’t be in an easy position to help you.”
While the mask hid the lower half of her face, the gleam in Poltergeist’s eyes told Jason she was grinning. “Don’t worry. I’m not that easy to catch.”
Jason kept silent, trusting that Poltergeist was right. Instead he checked the guards again, noting one of them look down and check his watch—the time for the supply ship coming close. Looking at Poltergeist, he whispered, “Go, kid. Make that distraction.”
She saluted him as she stood up. “It would be my pleasure. Just wait for my signal.”
As she made for the warren of shipping containers, Jason questioned, “What is the signal?”
“You’ll know it when you see it. Trust me,” Poltergeist called over her shoulder, before she darted into the labyrinth of shipping containers.
Jason watched her leave, then grinned. If it was Bruce here instead, the old man would have an aneurysm at Poltergeist’s brand of chaos and vagueness of specifics.
It had him like the kid even more.
Trusting her with the distraction, Jason turned to the shipping container and the crates next to it that served as his and Poltergeist’s hiding space. Using the crates, Jason hauled himself up onto the shipping container, keeping noise to a minimum as possible. When he was on top, Jason watched the guards, but they didn’t notice or hear him.
As he crouched on the container and readied his grappling gun, Jason eyed the docks for any sign of Poltergeist—or the signal she would give along with her distraction.
It did not disappoint when it came.
Near the warehouse, close enough to attract attention but far enough away that it would take a good few minutes for the guards to return, an explosion shattered the night.
The guards Jason saw visibly jolted, one asking, “What the hell is that?”
The other guard squinted suspiciously. “Don’t know.”
The first guard gulped. “Should we check it out?”
“The boss said to stay here till the drop-off’s over, so we’ll stay—“
Another explosion, louder and a fraction closer, went off.
The first guard’s eyes widened. “Shit! That sounded close!”
“Fuck,” the second guard swore. Grabbing a radio out, he ordered, “East and West Squads, we’ve got a potential security risk. Checking it out now.”
“Roger that. Coming to your position now,” a voice responded through the static, then switched off as the guards ran off to the explosions, followed by the guards who had been patrolling the perimeter.
And that was Jason’s cue.
Aiming his grappling gun at the skylight, Jason fired and it hooked onto it. He swung over to the roof, landing next to the skylight in a roll and crouch. Reeling the grapple back in, Jason turned back around.
Still no sign of Poltergeist.
A prickle of concern rose up in him and Jason muttered, “Come on, where are you, kid?”
Another minute passed, then a familiar voice whispered, “Hey Hood! Behind you.”
Jason twisted around and saw Poltergeist behind him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Told you I wouldn’t get caught.”
Jason eyed her. “That was an impressive distraction, kid. How the hell did you pull it off?”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Poltergeist replied with a shrug, but the mischief in her eyes gleamed brighter. “This one was just more… explosive.”
Jason grinned under the helmet—he understood the appeal of explosives very well. He pressed a foot against the edge of the skylight. “Then I guess it’s time I carry out my part of the plan.”
Sliding his hands against the edges, Jason found the latch. Recalling what he had learned on the streets and fine tuned with training on lock picking, he pulled out the picks he carried with him along with extra ammunition and hidden knives and set to work. While crashing in was much more fun, this was a matter of stealth, and shattered glass would alert anyone who was inside.
So lock picking instead.
As he worked on the latch, Poltergeist kept an eye out, periodically watching for the returning guards and the ship arriving to Gotham—a ship that Jason could now see on the edge of the horizon, steadily getting closer with it’s dangerous cargo.
As the ship was nearly halfway to the docks, the latch clicked open and Jason swung it soundlessly open. He gestured to the warehouse and a beam below wordlessly.
With a salute of her nail bat, Poltergeist slipped inside and onto the beam. Jason followed, closing the skylight behind him.
Now inside, Jason glanced down at the warehouse and the swarm of activity happening below.
Arms dealers and goons alike milled about, the goons readying crates to be packed with weapons and ammunition while the dealers barked orders at them. More guards patrolled the mezzanine, and Jason was quick to notice that instead of the machine guns the guards had outside, these guards carried the bulky silver and green weapons instead. And just like when he first saw the weapons, the Pit stirred uneasily inside his chest. He rubbed it absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off the weapons.
Poltergeist noticed the weapons too, gripping the nail-bat as she murmured, “They’re definitely preparing for more weapons being delivered tonight.”
“Yeah. That’s what worries me more,” Jason muttered.
With a nod to the other vigilante, he and Poltergeist crept across to another beam, hidden in the shadows but providing a better vantage point of the warehouse, the guards, and of the conversation happening below—or the orders being shouted, to be specific.
“Get those crates over there! Pack ‘em well and ready for getting the hell outta here! We’re expecting a big drop tonight, and it’ll be sheer damn luck no Bat sniffs this out!” an arms dealer barked, running a hand over his thinning hair and eyeing the skylight warily.
At least one of the people here knew to watch the ceiling. Too bad it came too late.
“Boss!” one of the goons shouted as he ran in. “The ship’s about to dock!”
The man whipped around so fast, Jason was surprised his neck didn’t break. “You heard ‘im! Prepare for the drop!”
One of the arms dealers, a woman with greying hair slicked back in a ponytail, scoffed as her fellows glared at him. “We’re not one of your goons, Aaron. You can’t order us around.”
“And stop checkin’ the ceilin’, aight? Ya lookin’ paranoid there,” another with a thick Bowery accent admonished.
“You all heard what happened to Ian. Red Hood and some girl in a hoodie and a nail bat disrupted his sale and left ‘im with his kneecaps broken. Call me paranoid, but I ain’t risking my kneecaps while handling a drop this big,” the dealer, Aaron, shot back before he glared at the woman. “And if you want this to go smoothly, then you do as I say like you were one of my goons, Jen, or we won’t be getting anything.”
A third, weaselly-looking arms dealer let out a derisive snort. “We haven’t even seen the guy givin’ us these so-called anti-Bat and anti-Red Hood weapons. I say we take the weapons and go.”
The arms dealer barely finished speaking before Aaron punched him in the face.
Silence reigned in the warehouse, movement pausing as the others stared in shock at Aaron, who glared at the dealer holding his jaw as he yelled, “You want to say that to the guys giving us these weapons?! To let it get to the man in charge!?”
He grabbed the man by his shirt and yelled, “If you wanna say that to his men, then he’ll do worse than a fucking punch! Do you wanna get on the bad side of the man giving us these weapons against the fucking Bats? Against that fucking bastard Red Hood?”
“N-no, I don’t,” the arms dealer whimpered.
“Good. Then don’t,” Aaron snarled and let him go, turning to the others and shouting, “And for anyone else who wants to fucking question things or me, then get the hell out!”
Silence met him.
“Alright. Then let’s fucking get to work! We’ve only got minutes left before the ship’s docked, and I still see some crates unprepared!” Aaron yelled.
Like that, movement restarted as the others, thoroughly cowed, resumed barking orders as their men moved at a frenetic pace to finish the rest of the crates before the ship docked. As they did, Jason and Poltergeist eyed each other.
What happened below confirmed what the arms dealer had revealed two weeks ago—that no one, not even the ones first receiving the weapons, knew the identity of the supplier or whoever else they were working with. And yet, whoever the supplier was, they had even a seasoned arms dealer of Gotham scared. Scared enough to threaten his fellow dealers to comply.
The unease simmering in Jason stirred, but he forced it down as he watched the hurried movements of the goons, eyeing the back entrance. Closed for now, but in any moment would open with the new cache of weapons.
The doors at the front slamming open had Jason look at it instead, one of the guards running in and shouting, “Boss! Something happened!”
“Oh, what is it now?” Aaron snapped.
“There was an explosion—not far from the warehouse,” the guard reported.
The frustrated look slid away. “Any sign we’ve been discovered?”
“No, but I got most of the men patrolling the area, and—“
“Pull them back in, now,” Aaron ordered.
“But—“
“That is an order.”
The guard hesitated, then nodded as he ran back outside.
“Aaron, are you insane? Snapping at us is one thing, but risking this entire drop is another,” Jen berated.
“She got a point. We ain’t riskin’ our necks if a Bat comes crashin’ in ‘ere,” the Bowery dealer warned.
“The ship is almost here. If we ditch now, there won’t be another,” Aaron argued. “And if a Bat was behind it, they would’ve gotten in by now. And we would’ve known, if that explosion was anything to go by.”
More grumbling, but they grew quiet as Jason and Poltergeist eyed each other again, her grip tightening on the nail-bat as Jason’s hand grazed one of his holstered guns. Tonight wasn’t meant to end in a fight, but if the arms dealers grew too suspicious and paranoid and started searching…
Then a fight might be the only way he and Poltergeist got out of here.
A sharp knock on the door at the back pulled Jason’s and Poltergeist’s attention back to the warehouse, as a goon pressed a button and the door rolled up, revealing a group of men and women in dark clothing next to crates, faces grim. Behind them, a cargo ship was docked, its name—and any other identifying features—either hidden or erased.
The drop was happening.
The arms dealers flocked together as Aaron took charge, spreading his arms wide as he announced, “Welcome back to Gotham, gentlemen and women! It’s a pleasure to receive you and your goods!”
“What the hell took you so long?” the Bowery arms dealer demanded. “We’ve been waitin’ here all night, riskin’ one of ‘em Bats findin’ out ‘bout the drop.”
“Apologies for being late. It’s hard staying on time when you’re trying to avoid detection,” one of the group, a man with slicked-back blonde hair, snapped, glowering at him.
The Bowery dealer glowered back as Jen demanded, “You the mysterious supplier, then?”
The blonde man shook his head. “No. The boss won’t risk his identity.”
Despite the warning and punch he’d received, the weaselly-looking dealer growled, “So you’re just his lackeys then? Your boss is too high and mighty to come down and show his face to us lowlifes?”
Behind the blonde man, a woman sneered, “Bold words coming from a group who could barely hold on to the last weapons we supplied you lowlifes with.”
The weaselly dealer lunged for the woman, Jen and the Bowery dealer holding him back as Aaron said with a smile, “Now, now! We’re conducting a deal here, not a brawl. Isn’t that right?”
Silence, then the weaselly dealer backed away as Aaron turned back to the group and continued, “But I am curious… we’re here, in good faith, after our first successful business meeting. Surely your boss would want to be here face to face?”
“He would, but he’s… settling other matters,” the blonde man replied, casting a look at his fellow suppliers as they grinned. “We’re just ensuring his weapons are delivered here.”
“Ah, yes. The weapons. May we see them ourselves?” Aaron requested.
The blonde man turned and snapped his fingers.
At once, the other suppliers lifted the crates and brought them into the warehouse one by one, until they were lined up in several lines. With another snap, the lids of the first line of crates opened.
Revealing row after row of shiny silver guns, sleeker than the first load but still bulky and futuristic, neon green accents glowing in the dim light. Arrayed in tidy lines were capsules glowing the same shade of green.
“As promised, a fresh batch of weapons, complete with energy capsules,” the blonde man informed. “Ready to be sold on the black market to whomever fancies them, whether to go up against a vigilante, a rogue or rival gang, to settle a grudge, or to make someone feel… safer against the threats of the night, in these increasingly dangerous times.”
Jason could feel the greed in the arms dealers’ faces as they hungrily eyed the weapons, as the fifty and final dealer, a grizzled-looking man, questioned, “You’re sure that these things can do damage on Red Hood? I’ve got a buyer who’s mighty keen on these things, but after that disaster of a sale two weeks ago, he’s growing less keen.”
“I assure you that these weapons can—“
“My buyer doesn’t want assurances and empty promises. He wants proof these things are worth his money,” the dealer interrupted.
The blonde man grinned. “Proof, huh?”
Walking up to the dealer, the blonde man laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “I assure, sir, that I have seen what these weapons can do, that when aimed at the right spot a single shot can do more damage than a bullet. That if I had seen that with my own eyes, then you and your buyer would trust my word as proof itself. Understood?”
”Understood,” the dealer growled. “But if my buyer buys this weapon, and it ain’t what it promised…”
“Oh, it will be and more,” the supplier assured. “Though I’m certain your buyer would rather buy than miss out on the chance on securing a weapon against Red Hood?”
The dealer didn’t say anything, but his silence was enough.
“Now,” the blonde man said as he walked away from the dealer, “if there are no more questions, then let’s get down to business. Ten weapons and capsules—“
“Ten! That ain’t ‘nough for even a week of sales!” the Bowery dealer yelled.
The blonde man’s lips curled. “As I was saying, ten weapons and capsules a crate, in a total of one hundred and fifty crates. Thirty crates between each of you. A lot more than the ten crates of weapons we supplied you with two weeks ago.”
None of the dealers said anything, eyeing the weapons again.
“Now, for the matter of price… twelve hundred dollars for thirty crates each,” the blonde man proposed.
The fifth dealer scoffed. “Seriously? That’s all this is worth?”
“These weapons are worth far more than that, but given one of your own’s failure to sell them, it’s the best deal I’m offering,” the blonde man replied curtly.
“Don’t blame us or Ian! It ain’t our fault! It was that bastard Red Hood who fucked up the sale!” the Bowery dealer yelled. “It woulda went fine if he didn’t show up!”
“Red Hood was there?” a man with a buzz cut asked.
“Yeah! Shot Ian’s kneecaps too!” the Bowery dealer confirmed. “Scared away some of my customers, but most are mighty eager to settle the score.”
Buzz Cut frowned at the woman next to him, then walked up to the blonde man and murmured, “Sir, if Red Hood knows about the weapons, if he—“
“He won’t know what they are. Not yet,” the blonde man responded, so quiet that only the enhanced hearing the Lazarus Pit granted Jason was the only reason he heard anything. “Stay the course. We’ve come too far to end this now.”
“Yeah, but if he talks to Batman or—“
“Nothing changes. Understood?”
Buzz Cut glowered, then nodded sharply and resumed his position as the blonde man turned to the suppliers and said, “Be that as it may, the price still stands. Twelve hundred dollars for thirty crates. Be grateful my boss wants to keep selling them to you.”
More grumbling, but no further arguments as the dealers brought out the money and began counting the amount they needed. As they did so, Jason turned to Poltergeist. Her face above the mask was grim, knuckles blanched white from her tight grip on the nail-bat, green flashing in her eyes as she kept them locked onto the weapons and the men and women delivering them to the arms dealers, body trembling as she breathed in and out, short and rapid.
“Poltergeist,” he murmured, holding her shoulder. “Hey, you okay, kid?”
She startled, eyes glowing bright green, before they were replaced by icy blue as she looked at him, then away, not letting go of her nail bat. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Jason pressed.
“Yes,” she insisted, glaring at him before she looked again at suppliers’ lackeys, her glare now focused on them, still keeping an iron grip on the nail-bat. Under the helmet, Jason frowned but let it go to focus on what was happening on the ground instead. He could press again when this mission was over.
Down below, the deals were wrapping up, goons getting ready to pack the weapons into the prepared crates. As they did, the blonde man said, “Pleasure doing business with you. Our boss will be most pleased with these sales.”
“The pleasure is all ours, sir,” Aaron replied, tone simpering.
“Now, before I and my associates go, one last thing,” the blonde man stated, gesturing to the gleaming weapons. “This is our second shipment of weapons to Gotham. A third and last shipment will be delivered in two months’ time, one much larger than both of our prior shipments combined—so please, moderate selling the weapons before then.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. But we ain’t promisin’ anything when our customers will be clamourin’ for these,” the Bowery dealer remarked, patting the crate he owned momentarily.
The blonde man’s smile tightened. “Then perhaps you and your customers will learn moderation.”
The Bowery dealer scowled as Aaron questioned, “This next shipment… surely it won’t be the last?”
“If everything goes according to our boss’ plans… then it won’t be the last for a long time, and you will have more regular shipments,” the blonde man promised, something dark slithering into his smile as his associates shared similar grins. A grin that had something twist in Jason’s chest and itch to put a bullet in their heads as Poltergeist stiffened beside him.
For the first time, Aaron glowered at the suppliers. “That’s a lofty promise to keep, sir. And especially when we don’t know who’s at the top or his plans.”
“Oh trust me, sir… be patient. You’ll find out in time,” the blonde man said, before he turned to his associates and nodded. As one, they walked to the back entrance as the blonde man said over his shoulder, “Two months. Same location, same time. And next time, take better care to not lose these. Vigilantes or not.”
He walked away, joining up with his associates at the door, as the dealers barked orders and the goons started packing up the weapons. In the rafters, Jason frowned as he glanced over at Poltergeist, who wore a similar frown over what they heard the supplier’s stand-in let slip. A vital piece of information, among the many from what they’d overheard.
But the drop was over. It was time for them to go.
“Okay, that’s as much as we can get. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jason muttered, half-rising out of the crouched stance he’d been in.
Poltergeist nodded, but froze and rapidly tugged on his jacket sleeve. “Wait. Hood, I see something on that crate. Over there.”
She pointed to a pile of crates and Jason looked at them, straining his vision to its limits. But he couldn’t see anything, and was about to say so, when he saw it—an image, half-hidden on a crate.
Adjusting the vision controls of his helmet, Jason magnified the sight until the image clarified—a logo, half-scratched out, the lines of the stylised letters barely visible, obviously in an attempt to make it anonymous.
It wasn’t good enough of one.
Jason smirked under his mask as he used it to capture an image of the logo. It looked illegible, but once Jason ran it through his computer, or if he snuck into the Bat Cave and ran it through the Bat Computer instead, it could resolve into a company logo or even the personal logo of the supplier—and have Jason be one step closer to uncovering his identity.
“Good catch on finding that, kid. Now let’s not stick around any longer,” Jason said.
Poltergeist didn’t respond.
“Kid? Poltergeist?” Jason questioned, turning to her—and seeing her look at the crate with the logo, then at the supplier’s lackeys, eyes flashing between icy blue and toxic green, looking almost ready to leap off the rafter and down below as the air grew colder and a faint, erratic hum buzzed around them.
“I… That logo… those weapons… that man… I can’t let them… I need to know if…” she mumbled, an odd, staticky crackle limning her voice.
“Kid,” Jason tried again, ready to grab her if she decided to leap off the rafter beam, and this time Poltergeist turned to him, eyes fully green and nail-bat pointed at him, the hum still buzzing and the air still cold, a snarl slipping out of her, a sense of hostility crackling in the chilled air.
“Easy, kid,” Jason murmured as he held up his hands, a disconcerting feeling of deja vu burning in his chest at the virulent green of Poltergeist’s eyes, the hostility still burning in the air, the Pit vibrating in his chest. “It’s me, kid. Red Hood.”
Poltergeist blinked rapidly, as slowly blue bled back into her eyes and she lowered the nail bat, the air warming and the buzz quieting.
“S-sorry,” she stammered out, voice still holding that staticky crackle. “I didn’t…”
“I know,” Jason murmured, the Pit stirring inside him, the memories of blood and fury, when he didn’t know where his anger ended and the Pit Rage began, the near-constant haze of green and wrath, playing in his head as he looked at the vigilante beside him who was too young to deal with the Pit’s cost. “I know, kid.”
Poltergeist didn’t say anything, a slight frown on her face, before it disappeared.
“You with me now, though, kid?” Jason asked. At receiving a nod, he said, “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
Poltergeist cast one last look at the packed-up weapons, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
However, before they could make to sneak back out, a high-pitched ringing filled the air as the blonde man, whom he and his fellow lackeys looked to be about to leave, froze as he tapped something in his ear, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Sir?” Buzz Cut questioned.
The frown on the blonde man’s face deepened as he pulled out his phone, looking at something on it, before he murmured, “We’re not alone. The speaker picked something… unusual up.”
Jason froze as Poltergeist let out a stifled noise, that faint, erratic hum buzzing in his ears again.
Sliding the device back in, the blonde man stalked up to his associates and began talking lowly to them before Buzz Cut and a brunette woman went outside and the blonde man began walking back toward the dealers—and at them.
Shit.
Jason slid a smoke bomb out of his pocket and gripped a gun with the other hand, ready to get him and Poltergeist out of here even if it meant a fight, when the other vigilante gripped his arm in an iron grip.
“What are y—“ Jason started before a cold, prickly feeling washed over him and something kicked in his chest, increasing the feeling. He looked over at Poltergeist, right into her wide eyes as she gave a shake of her head, grip tightening.
Jason got the message, loosening the grip on his gun and smoke bomb, as the blonde man looked up—and straight at them.
Jason didn’t need to feel Poltergeist’s warning squeeze before he went utterly still, hardly breathing as the blonde man squinted at the shadows that concealed them. His hand moved to his side, and despite the warning Jason did the same, already calculating the best way to aim non-lethal shots—
“Sir!” Buzz Cut yelled, running up to him. “Sir, we checked out the docks as you instructed. There were signs of an explosion and faint traces on the radars, but nothing recent. Must have been a misreading.”
The blonde man frowned, looking at the shadows again, then turned away. “Must have been.”
“Is something the matter, gentlemen?” Aaron questioned, then eyed the skylight and the surrounding shadows warily. “Do we have… unwanted company?”
“No. Just… strange interference from my headpiece. Nothing more,” the blonde man dismissed. “We best take our leave now. In two months we’ll return. And pray you have better luck by then.”
Most of the dealers glowered but kept silent as the blonde man and his associates walked away and left the warehouse. As they did, the roller door went down, landing with a metallic clank.
The moment it shut, Poltergeist relaxed her grip and the strange feeling disappeared. Still, they waited, watching as the arms dealers’ goons transferred the last of the weapons and their ammunition into their prepared crates, ready for transport. Ready to be sold to the highest bidder.
But Jason had heard enough, and after that close call he was getting himself and Poltergeist the fuck out of there.
Exchanging a look with Poltergeist, they creeped back to the skylight, exiting the way they entered. With the arrival of the weapons serving as the distraction, Jason leaped to the shipping container, Poltergeist behind him, and they made their way across the containers until they were close to the skyscrapers of Gotham. Now far enough away they wouldn’t be caught, Jason turned to Poltergeist.
She looked back in the direction of the warehouse. “That was… something.”
Jason crossed his arms, frowning under his helmet. They’d both gotten information on the weapons and the supplier through his stand-in, as scant as it was. Still, there had been nothing on where the weapons were coming from, or who exactly was pulling the strings, unless something came up from the scratched-out logo Poltergeist had found.
But there was one other piece of information that stuck out in his mind.
“Two months,” he said, making Poltergeist look over to him. “Two months and another drop will happen. The largest shipment of weapons, if the supplier’s stand-in wasn’t lying. And I doubt he was lying.”
Poltergeist’s eyes widened. “That can’t happen. One hundred and fifty crates is bad enough. If more of those weapons get loose, then…”
“Chaos,” Jason finished grimly, the Pit churning its agreement, though with more eagerness. “Which is why we’ll have to stop it.”
Poltergeist, who’d been pacing anxiously, stopped and arched a brow. “We?”
“We’re both working on this case together. Might as well make it official,” Jason answered, before he grinned under the helmet. “And we fight pretty well together.”
Poltergeist stared at him, before her eyes gleamed brighter as she rested her nail bat on her shoulder. “I guess someone has to watch your back when you’re hopelessly outnumbered. Okay, I’m in.”
She stuck her hand out. “Partners?”
Jason gripped it. “Partners.”
They shook, before Jason looked her over, remembering her moment of panic and fear as she looked at the supplier and weapons, and then again before their close call. “You okay now, kid?”
“I’m fine. I just… when I saw those weapons… when he smiled when selling them and he… And that logo, I thought…” Poltergeist said, voice growing quieter as her breath hitched.
Jason hesitated, then placed a hand gingerly on the other vigilante’s shoulder. She jolted, but didn’t move as she let out another shaky breath, then said, “I’m okay, Hood. Really. And I’ll feel better once those weapons are out of the picture.”
“I know,” he replied, agreeing with that sentiment as he lifted his hand off her shoulder.
Poltergeist looked down, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, though. I almost got us caught because of my slip up.”
“It’s fine, kid. We all have slip ups,” Jason assured, thinking of his own when he started as Robin. “And we’ll have two months to prepare, and even then, it’ll be a raid. No need to keep our cover there.”
Poltergeist let out a laugh. “That’s true.”
Jason smiled underneath the mask, glad to see the kid’s mood lightening so quickly, especially after a near-Pit Rage episode. But there was something, the way she talked about the logo…
“Did you recognise the logo, Poltergeist? Does it have anything to do with the weapons and who’d be the supplier, or why they’re being supplied in Gotham aside to cause chaos or give an edge to anyone with a grudge against me or the Bats, or anything else more about the weapons?” Jason questioned.
Poltergeist hesitated, before she shook her head. “No. Not more than I already know about the weapons. The logo… I thought I recognised it, but I don’t think it’s what I thought it was. If I’d gotten a closer look… but no, I don’t know anything else.”
That was a lie, but Jason chose not to press, as instead he pulled out a communicator and held it out to Poltergeist.
Poltergeist eyed it. “What’s that for?”
“So we can contact each other while preparing for the raid,” Jason explained. “And if you’re in trouble, you can contact me. I wasn’t lying two weeks ago in offering help if you needed it, and while I can’t promise I’ll be there immediately, I’ll get to you as quickly as I can.”
Poltergeist eyed the communicator again before she took it. “Yeah, that makes sense we should contact each other. But I… don’t exactly have my own communicator to give you.”
“No need to. I’ll sync my helmet’s comms channel to that frequency,” Jason assured, tapping his helmet. He filed away the fact Poltergeist hadn’t commented on that the communicator was a way for her to contact him for help if she needed it.
At hearing that, Poltergeist gripped the communicator and nodded. “I’ll get in touch with you when I can.”
“I’ll be keeping an ear out,” Jason promised.
“I guess this is goodbye for now. Until next time, Hood!” Poltergeist farewelled, saluting him as she made for the edge.
Before she did, Jason grabbed her arm, halting her and making her turn to him. Looking at Poltergeist, at someone who couldn’t have been much older or younger than him when he’d died and resurrected, of the haunting mirror he had seen in the kid’s toxic-green, glowing eyes and hostile expression, he murmured, “I mean it, kid. If you need help, any sort of help… contact me. I’ll come. No matter what.”
Poltergeist gave him an unreadable look, then slipped out of his hold. “Yeah, I will. If I need to. But until then… bye!”
Then, with a running start, she jumped off the edge of the shipping container and once again disappeared in the labyrinth.
After watching her vanish, Jason made his way down the shipping containers and toward where he’d parked his motorcycle, hopping on as he started it. The engine rumbled into life right as static crackled through the comms in his helmet.
Already? he thought, even though Jason knew it was highly unlikely the kid would have contacted him straight away after giving her a communicator. It was probably one of the family contacting him.
He was proven right when the static resolved into a familiar voice.
“Long night, Red Hood?”
“Just getting started, Oracle,” Jason responded as he zoomed into Gotham, the lights and people blurring past him. If he looked up, Jason was certain he’d catch a Bat or two leaping from roof to roof.
“I’m sure it is,” Barbara replied dryly. The faint clicking of keys came through before she asked in a more serious voice, “What happened on your mission, Hood?”
“Why are you asking? Thought you would have seen it through those cameras of yours,” Jason teased as he weaved between two cars. “And who says I was doing a mission?”
“Flattered, but not even I can see everything in the city. And I’ve known you for years, I can tell when you’ve finished a mission or not. So tell me, Hood. What happened?”
For a moment, Jason considered not saying a word, but while he knew Barbara wouldn’t press if he didn’t say anything, she would still want to know, especially if Jason was doing something stupid or dangerous, at that point someone—most of the time Dick—would get dragged in. Better tell Barbara now than go through all of that.
“I was following up on a tip from two weeks ago. Figured it was important to a case I’ve been working on,” Jason informed.
“And was it?”
Her voice was calm, analytical. The voice of Oracle.
“It was,” Jason confirmed, twisting into a street.
“And what would you like me to dig into?”
Jason grinned. “Appreciate the offer, O, but I’ll look into it on my own first. Might steal the Bat Computer for it, though.”
“Should have guessed. You Bats are allergic to help,” Barbara teased.
“You wound me, Oracle,” Jason replied sardonically. “But if there’s anything that comes up, you’ll be the first person I’ll come to in getting more information.”
“Glad to hear I’m the first choice there.
As the clacking of keys filled Jason’s ears along with the noise of Gotham’s traffic, Barbara’s voice softened as she asked, “Was she there?”
“Who was?” Jason asked, playing dumb.
“The new vigilante in your territory and the Bowery. With the nail-bat. Who I’m certain helped you out before.”
She had him there.
“Poltergeist? Yeah, she was there,” Jason confirmed, ducking a car. “Why the interrogation?”
“She looks awfully a lot like the type B adopts, even with the mask and hood and the grainy camera footage. Black hair, blue eyes, an urge to go out and punch criminals,” Barbara answered sarcastically, before adding in a softer voice, “That, and she looks similar to a kid Dick met while waiting for the bus today.”
Jason frowned. “Wait, that same kid he was blowing up the group chat about?”
“I’m surprised you turned in to the chat.
Jason’s grip tightened on the handlebars, as he said lowly, “I listen when it’s talking about someone with white streaks.”
The line went quiet, then, “Jason, are you…”
“I’m fine. And no names while in suit, remember?” Jason cut in, ignoring the still-tight grip he had on the handlebars. “What else?”
“The boy… I already heard about him, when Tim came to me a couple weeks ago for help on a case he and Cass were working on, with getting through some security walls”, Barbara explained, the faint note of frustration in her voice telling Jason everything he needed to know about the security walls both she and Tim, to his surprise, were failing at getting through. “He told me about the boy, how he and Cass met him at a gala and that his father is the reason why—and from what I’ve managed to get through and heard of him, I doubt he’s clean. But if the boy and Poltergeist look alike…”
“They could be connected,” Jason finished.
“Exactly.”
The roar of the motorcycle filled Jason’s head, joining the swarm of thoughts and constant simmering of the Pit. He remained silent before saying, “If something comes up in my case that might be connected to theirs, I’ll let you know.”
“And Poltergeist?”
“Leave her out of it—she has a right to her secrets,” Jason shot down.
Silence, then, “If I find something, I’ll tell you as well. Stay safe, Hood.”
“Always am, O,” Jason drawled as the comms went silent. Jason kept driving, thinking of his and Barbara’s conversation, of the boy that Dick had exploded the group chat with and the knee-jerk reaction he had at learning the boy had white streaks in his hair. Of the potential that whatever was going on with the boy’s father could be connected to his case, with the weapons and mysterious supplier—weapons Jason was still figuring out how to mitigate the damage of and of the raid on the next supply in two months time.
And Poltergeist.
Poltergeist, who both he and Barbara theorised could be connected to the boy based on similar looks. Poltergeist, who’d become his new partner on the case.
Who was a kid, probably the same age as him when he died. And who had been terrified of the weapons and the man supplying them, had almost had a Lazarus Pit episode after seeing the logo on one of them.
Whatever was going on, it proved Jason’s earlier suspicions right—that Poltergeist had a deeper connection to this, had more information she was keeping quiet about, but it had her determined to stop these weapons from going on the street.
But Jason hadn’t been lying either—whatever secrets the kid had, she was entitled to them. If it wasn’t something that could risk himself or any innocent people, Jason wouldn’t look further into it.
That instead, he’d work with the kid and make sure that next supply of weapons never hit Gotham’s streets or infiltrated his turf. And that he would help her deal with her Pit Rage.
He refused to let someone else, especially a kid, deal with the Pit Rage alone. Not when he could help her, that he understood.
Hopefully working together on the case would have the kid trust him more, that he wanted to help her, especially after the raid.
As Jason’s motorcycle roared across the streets of Gotham toward Crime Alley and his safe house, he was unaware of the shiver down his spine and prickle in his lungs trying to alert him of the invisible ghost watching him before she faded out of invisibility and shot across the sky toward Gotham U, making two promises to herself—that she would warn the ghosts she knew or were most prominent in the city and have them spread the word of the increased supply of anti-ghost weapons.
And that, when this was over, she would forcibly drag Red Hood with her into the Infinite Realms and to the Far Frozen and Frostbite so that he could get some much-needed help for his core.
But as she zoomed across the Gotham City skyline, something pricked her ghost sense and she looked to check—and almost fell out of the sky before continuing on her path, already telling herself she was imagining it, that the prior nights of sleep deprivation in favour of moonlighting as a vigilante were catching up to her.
Because, for a moment, she’d thought she had seen Danny.
But that was impossible, since her brother was in Amity Park, right?
Right?